


Sheppard Who?

by wings128



Series: Pick A Number [6]
Category: Almost Human, Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Crack, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/pseuds/wings128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cam Mitchell walked into a bar and found a lot more than he was looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sheppard Who?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [millygal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/gifts).



> Written for millygal's prompt in the secret character meme over on LJ:  
>  _Characters 4, 6, and 12 end up in a bar all hitting on 15. Who gets the date, who gets rejected and who gets asked to join in?_

When it came to going after who he wanted, Cameron Mitchell – USAF flyboy, Congressional Medal of Honor recipient, and leader of SG-1 - was a stinkin’ yella-bellied coward. 

Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard had been with the SGC since the expedition had been evicted from the ancient city without so much as a thank you card or a gift basket; had spent all that time flaunting his gorgeous ass in Cam’s face. Sheppard had an ass Cam’s dick liked very much and Cam even liked the rest of the field-promoted commander of Atlantis, who was talked about in hushed disapproving whispers amongst the brass. Liked the idea of tugging his fingers through that mop of barely-reg hair while Sheppard’s lips stretched soft and slick around Cam’s dick; liked the thought of Sheppard on his knees, of shoving that insubordinate mouth so full only stifled moans could escape. But Cam was a coward; had never made a move on his fellow colonel, never even took Sheppard for a test flight to see if all systems were green. 

When he and the rest of SG-1 returned from their latest Ori scouting mission, it was to learn that Sheppard, along with Weir, Beckett, and McKay, had hijacked the Jumper and gated back to Atlantis on some hair-brained rescue mission. Landry was all spit and bluster for nigh on two weeks; and after disobeying direct orders, Sheppard was once again in command of all Atlantis’ sexy, super-advanced weaponry. The fact that Sheppard was now living it up in Pegasus, and thereby beyond reach, did nothing to lower the General’s blood pressure, or erase Cam’s self-loathing.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d missed his chance, and as he pushed open the swing door of a not-so-local bar to find it crowded with strangers and a profusion of red banners and hearts – all bathed in a golden glow – Cam decided he was getting drunk, or laid, preferably both; and if the guy happened to look a bit like someone, that was for Cam to know and no one to find out.

The tinkle of feminine laughter reached him as he waded through the press of bodies on his way to the bar. Its owner, a stunning young thing with creamy skin painted with two spots of colour high on her cheeks, and rich brown ringlets brushing her bare shoulders, was perched delicately on one of the high barstools. Cam watched, fascinated, as she ducked her head and looked up through her eyelashes at the guy standing on her left. He didn’t seem to hear what she was saying, focused on the way a curl had wrapped itself around one of his fingers. The guy was hot, Cam allowed, but not what he was looking for; and yeah, he was looking. He was looking and following through. 

Cam let his gaze drift over the possibilities, and his heart thudded an extra beat in his chest.

‘Sheppard?’ It couldn’t be, but damn if everything in Cam wasn’t saying otherwise. 

The guy leaned against the polished mahogany of the bar, one hand cradling his jaw while the other raised an empty shot glass at the barman. He was all messy black hair – not as long as Sheppard’s - broad shoulders under black leather, and tight black denim that clung to long lean thighs and a firm peach-like ass that Cam ached to get his hands on. He was perfect and Cam sent a thankful nod heavenward as he stepped smoothly into the vacant space between the guy and the simpering southern princess. 

‘Now what?’ Cam thought, it’d been a while since he’d done this. ‘Say “hey” and buy him a drink?’ It sounded fool proof.

“What’s a guy like you doing drinking alone on Valentine’s Day?” Cam could’ve kicked himself – in the head. ‘Where the hell had that come from?’ 

The thought of slinking away like an old hound dog before things got more awkward was appealing but Cam decided to tough it out; after all the guy was worth a little embarrassment. He gestured overhead at the red foil heart balloons and the “Happy Valentine’s Day” banner stretched above the top shelf liquor bottles.

The guy, damn he even smirked like Sheppard, shrugged off the question and tossed back the deep gold liquid without a gasp. He was a few ahead of Cam then.

“Another?” Cam asked even as he signalled the barista for two. “Looks like I’ve some catchin’ up t’do.”

“Ah,” the guy’s voice was deep, with a gravelly base that skittered along Cam’s nerves, heated his skin and made him shift from one foot to the other as his dick took an interest. “sure. Name’s John.”

Cam promptly choked on his first swallow of Johnny Walker red, didn’t miss the irony, and tried to both breathe and speak before he was able to do either. John thumped him helpfully between his shoulders a couple of times and slid the flat of his palm over Cam’s shoulder, definite squeeze over bicep before returning to lift his own glass.

“You good?” John asked, amusement gleaming in his green eyes as he saluted his thanks for the fresh drink and tossed it back.

Cam nodded and blinked to clear his vision rather than wipe at his eyes as he swallowed cautiously. “Cam.”

John’s eyes widened with interest at Cam’s accent and Cam grinned, he should’ve known to go with the accent right off. Just as Cam was thinking through the move that’d bring him against John’s side so he could trace his palm over that thigh, a tiny hand curved over his forearm.

“And just who might you be Sir? Are you from my beloved South?”

The burr of the woman’s voice both grated along Cam’s spine like nails on a chalkboard and spoke of family holidays in South Carolina when he was a kid. All Cam wanted to do was get John alone, but Mrs Mitchell had raised her son right, so Cam turned to answer. Damn, she was a pretty lil’ thing; all sparkling eyes, rosebud lips twitching with impish mischief, and smooth creamy skin that flowed down to the sweet curves of her trussed breasts. Cam treated her to a sexy grin and watched her wriggle within her green flowered dress; he hadn’t done any flirtin’ in a long time.

“Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, ma’am, Kansas born and raised.” Cam poured molasses over his vowels solely for John, whose warm breath Cam could feel brushing across his nape as the other man crowded up behind him. “And this is John…” 

Cam turned and froze, hadn’t realised John was that close, their mouths were barely an inch apart.

“Kennex, Detective John Kennex.” John introduced himself smoothly, showed no acknowledgement of Cam’s closeness at all; until Cam felt confident fingertips invade beneath his shirt and trace warm slow circles on his vulnerable hip.

Cam was barely aware of the other guy introducing himself, the one he’d noticed playing the love sick beau earlier. His two double shots swirled nicely in his empty stomach, wrapping his mind in Dutch courage. All he could spare attention for was John, and the way the guy was leaning his hips into Cam’s ass, rubbing teasingly as he reached forward to shake Sam’s hand. 

It took a moment for Cam to realise that Sam hadn’t let go of John’s hand, was actually stroking his thumb, his long thumb, over John’s in the exact same pattern John was using on Cam’s belly; the warm rasp of calloused fingertips that were hidden by his black button down and dipping below his waistband.

He felt Sam’s eyes on him, watching as if he had x-ray vision and could see exactly what John was doing to him, and yeah, Cam could go for that. He rested his head back on John’s shoulder, nudged stubbled jaw with his forehead and pressed his own hand over John’s concealed one. They had to get outta here now, or Cam was gonna…just the thought of having John was…it’d been too long. 

“You coming?” John asked the taller than tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, twenty-something Adonis; his broken syllables the only outward sign of his need, and Cam couldn’t help the tiniest roll back of his hips into the trapped length of John’s cock.

Sam’s hazel eyes with their ring of blue widened and he licked his lips, their baby-pink softness gleaming in the golden glow of the bar lighting as John tugged on their still-joined hands. He nodded, stumbled around the skirts of Scarlett’s dress with a kind of grateful disbelief on his face.

“If you’ll excuse us ma’am,” Cam slurred, his accent thickening along with his dick and his need, “we’d best be leavin’. Enjoy your evenin’.” 

Cam was sure as hell gonna enjoy his.

He’d been hoping for some kind of hook up, a hand job; maybe even some dick-to-mouth action to mark the commercially sanctioned holiday. Instead he’d agreed to a threesome where he’d get fucked by John and sucked by Sam, or he’d fuck John and Sam’d fuck him – though that combination worried Cam a little, if Sam’s cock was as big as the rest of him.

Cam ground back into John as they beat a strategic retreat, Sam making a path for them through the crowd, and away from the woman whose mouth had frozen in a soft oh of surprise; the idea of being split apart on a monster cock while John shoved his meat heavy onto Cam’s tongue forced a groan of want past his lips.

“Easy, baby,” John whispered against Cam’s ear, his arm tightening around Cam’s waist as they made the sidewalk and Sam turned his body, snug against Cam’s chest. “We’ve got you.”

Sam’s enormous hands had cupped Cam’s jaw, thumbs stroked his cheekbones and he found himself opening for the kid’s kiss; the burning sweetness of Jack on his tongue.

“My place,” Cam gasped the order, needing some control, when Sam allowed him to finally breathe. “Car’s over here.”

“Yes sir, Colonel.” John chuckled before yanking Cam into his own kiss.

As he melted into the heat of John’s talented playful tongue and tugged on the gel-tipped black spikes of the other man’s hair, holding their mouths locked as Sam steered the three of them up against the Mustang’s passenger door, Cam couldn’t help thinking ‘Sheppard who?’


End file.
